Saturday, August 25, 2007

rise

Now that my temperature is sliding back from 100 down to something closer to normal, I am struggling to keep the apartment from creeping up to 100 to match the weather outside. The whole house has taken on a gothic air, curtains drawn, windows shuddered, with me at the core, wearing pink and snarfing watermelon to keep hydrated. I think watermelon has saved my life a number of times this summer as it is the only thing I can seem to "drink" without feeling gaggy after the first few ounces.

It was a rather foolish thing to do, going to Coney Island when you've got a cold and have to work the next day. But Mr. The Dust and I went, as promised. A little hackwheezycoughing was not stop us! Since apparently no one is going to Coney on a Thursday afternoon, it took us less time to get there than the Jersey shore. It was quite an odd collision of worlds. It felt unlike the New York I know (I've even been to Brooklyn before), nor Down t'Shore... it seemed more like a foreign country all its own. It was however every bit as grimy and kitschtastic as I had hoped.

We had some unexpectedly killer tacos at Doña Somebodies down some alley off the boardwalk. The weather was the complete opposite of everything we had been seeing at home and on our drive. It was barely warm, with shots of chill and a bit of sun. Then the mysterious fog rolled in and I felt distinctly like someone had accosted me and I was in San Francisco. Especially on the way home and the Verrazano was half hiding in the fog, which the Golden Gate never did once while I was there to see it. Of course, photography anywhere near the bridge is STRICTLY forbidden and advertised with great frequency in the vicinity. The paranoia did feel rather New York, now that I think about it, when at times I felt like I had slipped into Mother Russia.

The sideshow 'freak' acts were not quite freakish enough, though the wolfman and fire eater were fun. Too many metal objects shoved up nostrils for my taste, not enough real spunk. I don't believe the contortionist could actually contort any further than me, even though her gag reflexes are obviously better controlled when sword swallowing.

I'm continuing to 'construct' things and Coney was the first place where I shot specifically for the project. We'll see how that works out. The process is both frustrating and a great mental exercise, not to be attempted on zero sleep and a flaring temper. My will to pursue isn't flagging just yet. Onward!